Chapter II: Part 2

He went to where his ancestress was. On one side she was dead and on the other side she was a living woman. From the side of her that was dead Ma-ui took a bone—her jaw-bone—and out of this bone he made his fish-hook. There was never a fish-hook like it in the world before, and it was called “Ma-nai-i-ka-lani,” meaning “Made fast to the heavens.” He told no one about the wonderful fish-hook he had made for himself.

He had to get a different bait from any bait that had ever been used in the world before. His mother had sacred birds, the alae, and he asked her to give him one of them for bait. She gave him one of her birds.

Then Ma-ui, with his bait and his hook hidden, and with a line that he had made from the strongest olona vines, went down to his brothers’ canoe. “Here is Ma-ui,” they said when they saw him, “here is Ma-ui, the lazy and the shiftless, and we have sworn that we will never let him come again with us in our canoe.” They pushed out when they saw him coming; they paddled away, although he begged them to take him with them.

He waited on the beach. His brothers came back, and they had to tell him that they had caught no fish. Then he begged them to go back to sea again and to let him go this time in their canoe. They let him in, and they paddled off. “Farther and farther out, my brothers,” said Ma-ui; “out there is where the u-lua and the pi-mo-e are.” They paddled far out. They let down their lines, but they caught no fish. “Where are the u-lua and the pi-mo-e that you spoke of?” said his brothers to him. Still he told them to go farther and farther out. At last they got tired with paddling, and they wanted to go back.

Then Ma-ui put a sail upon the canoe. Farther and farther out into the ocean they went. One of the brothers let down a line, and a great fish drew on it. They pulled. But what came out of the depths was a shark. They cut the line and let the shark away. The brothers were very tired now. “Oh, Ma-ui,” they said, “as ever, thou art lazy and shiftless. Thou hast brought us out all this way, and thou wilt do nothing to help us. Thou hast let down no line in all the sea we have crossed.”

It was then that Ma-ui let down his line with the magic hook upon it, the hook that was baited with the struggling alae bird. Down, down went the hook that was named “Ma-nai-i-ka-lani,” “Made fast to the heavens.” Down through the waters the hook and the bait went. Ka-uni ho-kahi, Old One Tooth, who holds fast the land to the bottom of the sea, was there. When the sacred bird came near him he took it in his mouth. And the magic hook that Ma-ui had made held fast in his jaws.

Ma-ui felt the pull upon the line. He fastened the line to the canoe, and he bade his brothers paddle their hardest, for now the great fish was caught. He dipped his own paddle into the sea, and he made the canoe dash on.

The brothers felt a great weight grow behind the canoe. But still they paddled on and on. Weighty and more weighty became the catch; harder and harder it became to pull it along. As they struggled on Ma-ui chanted a magic chant, and the weight came with them.

“O Island, O great Island,
O Island, O great Island!
Why art thou
Sulkily biting, biting below?
Beneath the earth
The power is felt,
The foam is seen:
Come,
O thou loved grandchild
Of Kanaloa.”

On and on the canoe went, and heavier and heavier grew what was behind them. At last one of the brothers looked back. At what he saw he screamed out in affright. For there, rising behind them, a whole land was rising up, with mountains upon it. The brother dropped his paddle when he saw what had been fished up; as he dropped his paddle the line that was fastened to the jaws of old Ka-uni ho-kahi broke.

What Ma-ui fished up would have been a mainland, only that his brother’s paddle dropped and the line broke. Then only an island came up out of the water. If more land had come up, all the Islands that we know would have been joined in one.

There are people who say that his sister, Hina-of-the-Sea, was near at the time of that great fishing. They say she came floating out on a calabash. When Ma-ui let down the magic hook with their mother’s sacred bird upon it, Hina-of-the-Sea dived down and put the hook into the mouth of Old One Tooth, and then pulled at the line to let Ma-ui know that the hook was in his jaws. Some people say this, and it may be the truth. But whether or not, every one, on every Island in the Great Ocean, from Kahiki-mo-e to Hawaii nei, knows that Ma-ui fished up a great Island for men to live on. And this fishing was the third of Ma-ui’s great deeds.

HOW MA-UI SNARED THE SUN AND MADE HIM GO MORE SLOWLY ACROSS THE HEAVENS.

The Sky had been lifted up, and another great Island had come from the grip of Old One Tooth and was above the waters. The world was better now for men and women to live in. But still there were miseries in it, and the greatest of these miseries was on account of the heedlessness of the Sun.

For the Sun in those days made his way too quickly across the world. He hurried so that little of his heat got to the plants and the fruits, and it took years and years for them to ripen. The farmers working on their patches would not have time in the light of a day to put down their crop into the ground, so quickly the Sun would rush across the heavens, and the fishermen would barely have time to launch their canoes and get to the fishing grounds when the darkness would come on. And the women’s tasks were never finished. It was theirs to make the tapa-cloth: a woman would begin at one end of the board to beat the bark with her four-sided mallet, and she would be only at the middle of the board by the time the sunset came. When she was ready to go on with the work next day, the Sun would be already halfway across the heavens.

Ma-ui, when he was a child, used to watch his mother making tapa, and as he grew up he pitied her more and more because of all the toil and trouble that she had. She would break the branches from the ma-ma-ka trees and from the wau-ke trees and soak them in water until their bark was easily taken off. Then she would take off the outer bark, leaving the inner bark to be worked upon. She would take the bundles of the wet inner bark and lay them on the tapa-board and begin pounding them with little clubs. And then she would use her four-sided mallet and beat all the soft stuff into little thin sheets. Then she would paste the little sheets together, making large cloths. This was tapa—the tapa that it was every woman’s business in those days to make. As soon as morning reddened the clouds Ma-ui’s mother, Hina-of-the-Fire, would begin her task: she would begin beating the softened bark at one end of the board, and she would be only in the middle of the board when the sunset came. And when she managed to get the tapa made she could never get it dried in a single day, so quickly the Sun made his way across the heavens. Ma-ui pitied his mother because of her unceasing toil.

He greatly blamed the Sun for his inconsiderateness of the people of the world. He took to watching the Sun. He began to know the path by which the Sun came over the great mountain Ha-le-a-ka-la (but in those days it was not called Ha-le-a-ka-la, the House of the Sun, but A-hele-a-ka-la, The Rays of the Sun). Through a great chasm in the side of this mountain the Sun used to come.

He told his mother that he was going to do something to make the Sun have more considerateness for the men and women of the world. “You will not be able to make him do anything about it,” she said; “the Sun always went swiftly, and he will always go swiftly.” But Ma-ui said that he would find a way to make the Sun remember that there were people in the world and that they were not at all pleased with the way he was going on.

Then his mother said: “If you are going to force the Sun to go more slowly you must prepare yourself for a great battle, for the Sun is a great creature, and he has much energy. Go to your grandmother who lives on the side of Ha-le-a-ka-la,” said she (but it was called A-hele-a-ka-la then), “and beg her to give you her counsel, and also to give you a weapon to battle with the Sun.”

So Ma-ui went to his grandmother who lived on the side of the great mountain. Ma-ui’s grandmother was the one who cooked the bananas that the Sun ate as he came through the great chasm in the mountain. “You must go to the place where there is a large wili-wili tree growing,” said his mother. “There the Sun stops to eat the bananas that your grandmother cooks for him. Stay until the rooster that watches beside the wili-wili tree crows three times. Your grandmother will come out then with a bunch of bananas. When she lays them down, do you take them up. She will bring another bunch out, and do you take that up too. When all her bananas are gone she will search for the one who took them. Then do you show yourself to her. Tell her that you are Ma-ui and that you belong to Hina-of-the-Fire.”

So Ma-ui went up the side of the mountain that is now called He-le-a-ka-la, but that then was called A-hele-a-ka-la, The Rays of the Sun. He came to where a great wili-wili tree was growing. There he waited. The rooster crew three times, and then an old woman came out with a bunch of bananas. He knew that this was his grandmother. She laid the bananas down to cook them, and as she did so Ma-ui snatched them away. When she went to pick up the bunch she cried out, “Where are the bananas that I have to cook for my Lord, the Sun?” She went within and got another bunch, and this one, too, Ma-ui snatched away. This he did until the last bunch of bananas that his grandmother had was taken.

She was nearly blind, so she could not find him with her eyes. She sniffed around, and at last she got the smell of a man. “Who are you?” she said. “I am Ma-ui, and I belong to Hina-of-the-Fire,” said he. “What have you come for?” asked his grandmother. “I have come to chastise the Sun and to make him go more slowly across the heavens. He goes so fast now that my mother cannot dry the tapa that she takes all the days of the year to beat out.”

The old woman considered all that Ma-ui said to her. She knew that he was a hero born, because the birds sang, the pebbles rumbled, the grass withered, the smoke hung low, the rainbow appeared, the thunder was heard, the hairless dogs were seen, and even the ants in the grass were heard to sing in his praise. She decided to give help to him. And she told him what preparations he was to make for his battle with the Sun.

First of all he was to get sixteen of the strongest ropes that ever were made. So as to be sure they were the strongest, he was to knit them himself. And he was to make nooses for them out of the hair of the head of his sister, Hina-of-the-Sea. When the ropes were ready he was to come back to her, and she would show him what else he had to do.

Ma-ui made the sixteen ropes; he made them out of the strongest fibre, and his sister, Hina-of-the-Sea, gave him the hair of her head to make into nooses. Then, with the ropes and the nooses upon them, Ma-ui went back to his grandmother. She told him where to set the nooses, and she gave him a magic stone axe with which to do battle with the Sun.

He set the nooses as snares for the Sun, and he dug a hole beside the roots of the wili-wili tree, and in that hole he hid himself. Soon the first ray of light, the first leg of the Sun, came over the mountain wall. It was caught in one of the nooses that Ma-ui had set. One by one the legs of the Sun came over the rim, and one by one they were caught in the nooses. One leg was left hanging down the side of the mountain: it was hard for the Sun to move that leg. At last this last leg came slowly over the edge of the mountain and was caught in the snare. Then Ma-ui gathered up the ropes and tied them to the great wili-wili tree.

When the Sun saw that his sixteen legs were held fast by the nooses that Ma-ui had set he tried to back down the mountain-side and into the sea again. But the ropes held him, and the wili-wili tree stood the drag of the ropes. The Sun could not get away. Then he turned all his burning strength upon Ma-ui. They fought. The man began to strike at the Sun with his magic axe of stone; and never before did the Sun get such a beating. “Give me my life,” said the Sun. “I will give you your life,” said Ma-ui, “if you promise to go slowly across the heavens.” At last the Sun promised to do what Ma-ui asked him.

They entered into an agreement with each other, Ma-ui and the Sun. There should be longer days, the Sun making his course slower. But every six months, in the winter, the Sun might go as fast as he had been in the habit of going. Then Ma-ui let the Sun out of the snares which he had set for him. But, lest he should ever forget the agreement he had made and take to travelling swiftly again, Ma-ui left all the ropes and the nooses on the side of Ha-le-a-ka-la, so that he might see them every day that he came across the rim of the mountain. And the mountain was not called A-hele-a-ka-la, the Rays of the Sun, any more, but Ha-le-a-ka-la, the House of the Sun. After that came the saying of the people, “Long shall be the daily journey of the Sun, and he shall give light for all the peoples’ toil.” And Ma-ui’s mother, Hina-of-the-Fire, learned that she could pound on the tapa-board until she was tired, and the farmers could plant and take care of their crops, and the fishermen could go out to the deep sea and fish and come back, and the fruits and the plants got heat enough to make them ripen in their season.

HOW MA-UI WON FIRE FOR MEN.

Ma-ui’s mother must have known about fire and the use of fire; else why should she have been called Hina-of-the-Fire, and how did it come that her birds, the alae, knew where fire was hidden and how to make it blaze up? Hina must have known about fire. But her son had to search and search for fire. The people who lived in houses on the Islands did not know of it: they had to eat raw roots and raw fish, and they had to suffer the cold. It was for them that Ma-ui wanted to get fire; it was for them that he went down to the lower world, and that he went searching through the upper world for it.

In Kahiki-mo-e they have a tale about Ma-ui that the Hawaiians do not know. There they tell how he went down to the lower world and sought out his great-great-grandmother, Ma-hui’a. She was glad to see Ma-ui, of whom she had heard in the lower world; and when he asked her to give him fire to take to the upper world, she plucked a nail off her finger and gave it to him.

In this nail, fire burned. Ma-ui went to the upper world with it. But in crossing a stream of water he let the nail drop into it. And so he lost the fire that his great-great-grandmother had given him.

He went back to her again. And again Ma-hui’a plucked off a finger-nail and gave it to him. But when he went to the upper world and went to cross the stream, he let this burning nail also drop into the water. Again he went back, and his great-great-grandmother plucked off a third nail for him. And this went on, Ma-ui letting the nails fall into the water, and Ma-hui’a giving him the nails off her fingers, until at last all the nails of all her fingers were given to him.

But still he went on letting the burning nails fall into the water that he had to cross, and at last the nails of his great-great-grandmother’s toes as well as the nails of her fingers were given to him—all but the nail on the last of her toes. Ma-ui went back to her to get this last nail. Then Ma-hui’a became blazing angry; she plucked the nail off, but instead of giving it to him she flung it upon the ground.

Fire poured out of the nail and took hold on everything. Ma-ui ran to the upper world, and Ma-hui’a in her anger ran after him. He dashed into the water. But now the forests were blazing, and the earth was burning, and the water was boiling. Ma-ui ran on, and Ma-hui’a ran behind him. As he ran he chanted a magic incantation for rain to come, so that the burning might be put out:

“To the roaring thunder;
To the great rain—the long rain;
To the drizzling rain—the small rain;
To the rain pattering on the leaves.
These are the storms, the storms
Cause them to fall;
To pour in torrents.”

The rain came on—the long rain, the small rain, the rain that patters on the leaves; storms came, and rain in torrents. The fire that raged in the forests and burned on the ground was drowned out. And Ma-hui’a, who had followed him, was nearly-drowned by the torrents of rain. She saw her fire, all the fire that was in the lower and in the upper worlds, being quenched by the rain.

She gathered up what fragments of fire she could, and she hid them in barks of different trees so that the rain could not get at them and quench them. Ma-ui’s mother must have known where his great-great-grandmother hid the fire. If she did not, her sacred birds, the alae, knew it. They were able to take the barks of the trees and, by rubbing them together, to bring out fire.

In Hawaii they tell how Ma-ui and his brothers used to go out fishing every day, and how, as soon as they got far out to sea, they would see smoke rising on the mountain-side. “Behold,” they would say, “there is a fire. Whose can it be?” “Let us hasten to the shore and cook our fish at that fire,” another would say.

So, with the fish that they had caught, Ma-ui and his brothers would hasten to the shore. The swiftest of them would run up the mountain-side. But when he would get to where the smoke had been, all he would see would be the alae scratching clay over burnt-out sticks. The alae would leave the place where they had been seen, and Ma-ui would follow them from place to place, hoping to catch them while their fire was lighted.

He would send his brothers off fishing, and he himself would watch for the smoke from the fire that the alae would kindle. But they would kindle no fire on the days that he did not go out in the canoe with his brothers. “We cannot have our cooked bananas to-day,” the old bird would say to the young birds, “for the swift son of Hina is somewhere near, and he would come upon us before we put out our fire. And remember that the guardian of the fire told us never to show a man where it is hidden or how it is taken out of its hiding place.”

Then Ma-ui understood that the bird watched for his going and that they made no fire until they saw him out at sea in his canoe. He knew that they counted the men that went out, and that if he was not in the number they did no cooking that day. Every time he went in the canoe he saw smoke rising on the mountain-side.

Then Ma-ui thought of a trick to play on them—on the stingy alae that would not give fire, but left men to eat raw roots and raw fish. He rolled up a piece of tapa, and he put it into the canoe, making it like a man. Then he hid near the shore. The brothers went fishing, and the birds counted the figures in the canoe. “The swift son of Hina has gone fishing: we can have cooked bananas to-day.” “Make the fire, make the fire, until we cook our bananas,” said the young alae.

So they gathered the wood together, and they rubbed the barks, and they made the fire. The smoke rose up from it, and swift Ma-ui ran up the mountain-side. He came upon the flock of birds just as the old one was dashing water upon the embers. He caught her by the neck and held her.

“I will kill you,” he said, “for hiding fire from men.”

“If you kill me,” said the old alae, “there will be no one to show you how to get fire.”

“Show me how to get fire,” said Ma-ui, “and I will let you go.”

The cunning alae tried to deceive Ma-ui. She thought she would get him off his guard, that he would let go of her, and that she could fly away. “Go to the reeds and rub them together, and you will get fire,” she said.

Ma-ui went to the reeds and rubbed them together. But still he held the bird by the neck. Nothing came out of the reeds but moisture. He squeezed her neck. “If you kill me, there will be no one to tell you where to get fire,” said the cunning bird, still hoping to get him off his guard. “Go to the taro leaves and rub them together, and you will get fire.”

Ma-ui held to the bird’s neck. He went to the taro leaves and rubbed them together, but no fire came. He squeezed her neck harder. The bird was nearly dead now. But still she tried to deceive the man. “Go to the banana stumps and rub them together, and you will get fire,” she said.

He went to the banana stumps and rubbed them together. But still no fire came. Then he gave the bird a squeeze that brought her near her death. She showed him then the trees to go to—the hau tree and the sandalwood tree. He took the barks of the trees and rubbed them, and they gave fire. And the sweet-smelling sandalwood he called “ili-aha”—that is, “fire bark”—because fire came most easily from the bark of that tree. With sticks from these trees Ma-ui went to men. He showed them how to get fire by rubbing them together. And never afterwards had men to eat fish raw and roots raw. They could always have fire now.

The first stick he lighted he rubbed on the head of the bird that showed him at last where the fire was hidden. And that is the reason why the alae, the mud-hen, has a red streak on her head to this day.

HOW MA-UI OVERCAME KUNA LOA THE LONG EEL.

Hina-of-the-Fire lived in a cave that the waters of the river streamed over, a cave that always had a beautiful rainbow glimmering across it. While her sons were away no enemy could come to Hina in this cave, for the walls of it went up straight and smooth. And there at the opening of the cave she used to sit, beating out her tapa in the long days that came after Ma-ui had snared the Sun and had made him go more slowly across the heavens.

In the river below there was one who was an enemy to Hina. This was Kuna Loa, the Long Eel. Once Kuna Loa had seen Hina on the bank of the river, and he had wanted her to leave her cave and come to his abode. But Hina-of-the-Fire would not go near the Long Eel. Then he had gone to her, and he had lashed her with his tail, covering her with the slime of the river. She told about the insults he had given her, and Ma-ui drove the Long Eel up the river, where he took shelter in the deep pools. Ma-ui broke down the banks of the deep pools with thrusts of his spear, but Kuna Loa, the Long Eel, was still able to escape from him. Now Ma-ui had gone away, and his mother, Hina-of-the-Fire, kept within the cave, the smooth rock of which Kuna Loa could not climb.

The Long Eel came down the river. He saw Hina sitting in the mouth of the cave that had the rainbow glimmering across it, and he was filled with rage and a wish to destroy her. He took a great rock and he put it across the stream, filling it from bank to bank. Then he lashed about in the water in his delight at the thought of what was going to happen to Hina.

She heard a deeper sound in the water than she had ever heard before as she sat there. She looked down and she saw that the water was nearer to the mouth of the cave than she had ever seen it before. Higher and higher it came. And then Hina heard the voice of Kuna Loa rejoicing at the destruction that was coming to her. He raised himself up in the water and cried out to her: “Now your mighty son cannot help you. I will drown you with the waters of the river before he comes back to you, Hina.”

And Hina-of-the-Fire cried “Alas, Alas,” as she watched the waters mount up and up, for she knew that Ma-ui and her other sons were far away, and that there was none to help her against Kuna Loa, the Long Eel. But, even as she lamented, something was happening to aid Hina. For Ma-ui had placed above her cave a cloud that served her—“Ao-opua,” “The Warning Cloud.” Over the cave it rose now, giving itself a strange shape: Ma-ui would see it and be sure to know by its sign that something dire was happening in his mother’s cave.

He was then on the mountain Ha-le-a-ka-la, the House of the Sun. He saw the strangely shaped cloud hanging over her cave, and he knew that some danger threatened his mother, Hina-of-the-Fire. He dashed down the side of the mountain, bringing with him the magic axe that his grandmother had given him for his battle with the Sun. He sprang into his canoe. With two strokes of his paddle he crossed the channel and was at the mouth of the Wai-lu-ku River. The bed of the river was empty of water, and Ma-ui left his canoe on the stones and went up towards Hina’s cave.

The water had mounted up and up and had gone into the cave, and was spilling over Hina’s tapa-board. She was lamenting, and her heart was broken with the thought that neither Ma-ui nor his brothers would come until the river had drowned her in her cave.

Ma-ui was then coming up the bed of the river. He saw the great stone across the stream, and he heard Kuna Loa rejoicing over the destruction that was coming to Hina in her cave. With one stroke of his axe he broke the rock across. The water came through the break. He struck the rocks and smashed them. The river flowed down once more, and Hina was safe in her cave.

Kuna Loa heard the crash of the axe on the rock, and he knew that Ma-ui had come. He dashed up the stream to hide himself again in the deep pools. Ma-ui showed his mother that she was safe, and then he went following the Long Eel.

Kuna Loa had gone into a deep pool. Ma-ui flung burning stones into the water of that pool, making it boil up. Then Kuna Loa dashed into another pool. From pool to pool Ma-ui chased him, making the pools boil around him. (And there they boil to this day, although Kuna Loa is no longer there.) At last the Eel found a cave in the bottom of one of the pools, and he went and hid in it, and Ma-ui could not find him there, nor could the hot stones that Ma-ui threw into the water, making it boil, drive Kuna Loa out.

Hina thought she was safe from the Long Eel after that. She thought that his skin was so scalded by the boiling water that he had died in his cave. Down the river bank for water she would go, and sometimes she would stand on the bank all wreathed in flowers.

But one day, as she was standing on the bank of the river, Kuna Loa suddenly came up. Hina fled before him. The Eel was between her and her cave, and she could not get back to her shelter. She fled through the woods. And as she fled she shrieked out chants to Ma-ui: her chants went through the woods, and along the side of the mountain, and across the sea; they came at last up the side of Ha-le-a-ka-la, where her son Ma-ui was.

There were many people in the places that Hina fled through, but they could do nothing to help her against the Long Eel. He came swiftly after her. The people in the villages that they went through stood and watched the woman and the Eel that pursued her.

Where would she go now? The Long Eel was close behind her. Then Hina saw a bread-fruit tree with great branches, and she climbed into it. Kuna Loa wound himself around the tree and came after her. But the branch that Hina was in was lifted up and up by the tree, and the Long Eel could not come to her.

And then Ma-ui came. He had dashed down the side of the mountain and had crossed the channel with two strokes of his paddles and had hurried along the track made by the Long Eel. Now he saw his mother in the branch that kept mounting up, and he saw Kuna Loa winding himself up after her. Ma-ui went into the tree. He struck the Eel a terrible blow and brought him to the ground. Then he sprang down and cut his head off. With other blows of his axe he cut the Eel all to pieces. He flung the head and the tail of Kuna Loa into the sea. The head turned into fish of many kinds, and the tail became the large conger eel of the sea. Other parts of the body turned into sea monsters of different kinds. And the blood of Kuna Loa, as it fell into the fresh water, became the common eels. The fresh and the salt water eels came into the world in this way, and Ma-ui, by killing the Long Eel, wrought the sixth of his great deeds.

THE SEARCH THAT MA-UI’S BROTHER MADE FOR HIS SISTER HINA-OF-THE-SEA.

Ma-ui had four brothers, and each of them was named Ma-ui. The doer of the great deeds was known as “the skillful Ma-ui,” and the other four brothers were called “the forgetful Ma-uis.”

But there was one brother who should not have been called “forgetful.” He was the eldest brother, Ma-ui Mua, and he was sometimes called Lu-pe. He may have been forgetful about many things that the skillful Ma-ui took account of, but he was not forgetful of his sister, of Hina-of-the-Sea.

His great and skillful brother had set Hina-of-the-Sea wandering. She was married, and her husband often went on journeys with the skillful Ma-ui. And once Ma-ui became angry with him because he ate the bait that they had taken with them for fishing; he became angry with his sister’s husband, and in his anger he uttered a spell over him, and changed his form into the form of a dog.

When Hina-of-the-Sea knew that her husband was lost to her she went down to the shore and she chanted her own death-song:

“I weep, I call upon the steep billows of the sea,
And on him, the great, the ocean god;
The monsters, all now hidden,
To come and bury me,
Who am now wrapped in mourning.
Let the waves wear their mourning, too,
And sleep as sleeps the dead.”

And after she had chanted this, she threw herself into the sea.

But the waves did not drown her. They carried her to a far land. There were no people there; according to the ancient chant—

“The houses of Lima Loa stand,
But there are no people;
They are at Mana.”

The people were by the sea, and two who were fishermen found her. They carried her to their hut, and when they had taken the sea-weed and the sea-moss from her body they saw what a beautiful woman she was. They brought her to their chief, and the chief took Hina-of-the-Sea for his wife.

But after a while he became forgetful of her. After another while he abused her. She had a child now, but she was very lonely, for she was in a far and a strange land.

“The houses of Lima Loa stand,
But there are no people;
They are at Mana.”

She was not forgotten, for Ma-ui Mua, her eldest brother, thought of her. In Kahiki-mo-e they tell of his search for her, and they say that when he heard of her casting herself into the sea, he took to his canoe and went searching all over the sea for her. He found new Islands, Islands that no one had ever been on before, and he went from Island to Island, ever hoping to find Hina-of-the-Sea. Far, far he went, and he found neither his sister nor any one who knew about her.

“The houses of Lima Loa stand,
But there are no people;
They are at Mana.”

And every day Hina-of-the-Sea would go down to the shore of the land she was on, and she would call on her eldest brother:

“O Lu-pe! Come over!
Take me and my child!”

Now one day, as Hina cried out on the beach, there came a canoe towards her. There was a man in the canoe; but Hina, hardly noticing him, still cried to the waves and the winds:

“O Lu-pe! Come over!
Take me and my child!”

The man came up on the beach. He was worn with much travel, and he was white and old-looking. He heard the cry that was sent to the waves and the winds, and he cried back an answer:

“It is Lu-pe, yes, Lu-pe,
The eldest brother;
And I am here.”

He knew Hina-of-the-Sea. He took her and her child in his canoe, rejoicing that his long search was over at last and that he had a sister again. He took her and her child to one of the Islands which he had discovered.

And there Hina-of-the-Sea lived happily with her eldest brother, Ma-ui Mua, and there her child grew up to manhood. The story of her eldest brother’s search for Hina is not told in Hawaii nei, and one has to go to Kahiki-mo-e to hear it. But in Hawaii nei they tell of a beautiful land that Ma-ui the Skillful came to in search of some one. It is the land, perhaps, that his brother and sister lived in—the beautiful land that is called Moana-liha-i-ka-wao-ke-le.

HOW MA-UI STROVE TO WIN IMMORTALITY FOR MEN.

Would you hear the seventh and last of great Ma-ui’s deeds? They do not tell of this deed in Hawaii nei, but they tell of it in Kahiki-mo-e. The last was the greatest of all Ma-ui’s deeds, for it was his dangerous labor then to win the greatest boon for men—the boon of everlasting life.

He heard of the Goblin-goddess who is called Hina-nui-ke-po, Great Hina-of-the-Night. It is she who brings death on all creatures. But if one could take the heart out of her body and give it to all the creatures of the earth to eat, they would live for ever, and death would be no more in the world.

They tell how the Moon bathes in the Waters of Life, and comes back to the world with her life renewed. And once Ma-ui caught and held the Moon. He said to her, “Let Death be short, and as you return with new strength let it be that men shall come back from Death with new strength.” But the Moon said to Ma-ui, “Rather let Death be long, so that men may sigh and have sorrow. When a man dies, let him go into darkness and become as earth, so that those whom he leaves behind may weep and mourn for him.” But for all that the Moon said to Ma-ui, he would not have it that men should go into the darkness for ever and become as earth. The Moon showed him where Hina-of-the-Night had her abode. He looked over to her Island and saw her. Her eyes shone through the distance; he saw her great teeth that were like volcanic glass and her mouth that was wide like the mouth of a fish; he saw her hair that floated all around her like seaweed in the sea.

He saw her and was afraid; even great Ma-ui was made afraid by the Goblin-goddess, Great Hina-of-the-Night. But he remembered that he had said that he would find a way of giving everlasting life to men and to all creatures, and he thought and thought of how he could come to the Goblin-goddess and take the heart out of her body.

It was his task then to draw all creatures to him and to have them promise him that they would help him against the Goblin-goddess. And when at last he was ready to go against her the birds went with him. He came to the Island where she was, Great Hina-of-the-Night. She was sleeping, and all her guards were around her. Ma-ui passed through her guards. He prepared to enter her terrible open mouth, and bring back her heart to give to all the creatures of the earth.

And at last he stood ready to go between the jaws that had the fearful teeth that were sharp like volcanic glass. He stood there in the light of a sun-setting, his body tall and fine and tattooed all over with the histories of his great deeds. He stood there, and then he gave warning to all the birds that none of them was to sing or to laugh until he was outside her jaws again with the heart of the Goblin-goddess in his hands.

He went within the jaws of Great Hina-of-the-Night. He passed the fearful teeth that were sharp like volcanic glass. He went down into her stomach. And then he seized upon her heart. He came back again as far as her jaws, and he saw the sky beyond them.

Then a bird sang or a bird laughed—either the e-le-pa-io sang, or Paka-kai the water-wagtail laughed—and the Goblin-goddess wakened up. She caught Ma-ui in her great teeth, and she tore him across. There was darkness then, and the crying of all the birds.

Thus died Ma-ui who raised the sky and who fished up the land, who made the Sun go more slowly across the heavens, and who brought fire to men. Thus died Ma-ui, with the Meat of Immortality in his hands. And since his death no one has ever ventured near the lair of Hina-nui-ke-po, the Goblin-goddess.

AU-KE-LE THE SEEKER.

In a land that is now lost, in Ku-ai-he-lani, the Country that Supports the Heavens, there lived a King whose name was Iku. He had twelve children, and of these eleven grew up without ever having received any favor or any promise from their father.

But when the twelfth child was born—Au-ke-le was his name—his father took him up in his arms, and he promised him all the honor and power and glory that was his, and he promised him the kingship of Ku-ai-he-lani, the Country that Supports the Heavens.

The other children were angry when they saw their father take little Au-ke-le up in his arms, and they were more angry when they heard the promises that were made to him. And the eldest brother, who was the angriest of all, said, “I am the eldest born, and my father never made such promises to me, and he never took me up in his arms and fondled me.” And this brother, who was now a man grown, went from before his father, and his other brothers went with him.

Au-ke-le grew up. His father gave him many of his possessions—feather cloaks, and whale-tooth necklaces, and many sharp and polished weapons. He grew up to be the handsomest of handsome youths, with a body that was straight and faultless. One day, knowing that they had gone to play games in a certain house, he went to follow his brothers. But Iku, his father, said to him, “Do not go where your brothers have gone; they are angry with you, and they have always been angry with you, and it may be that they will do some harm to you in that place.” But in spite of the words of his father Au-ke-le followed his brothers. He came to the house where his brothers were, and he shot his arrow into it. One of his brothers took up the arrow and said, “This is not a stranger’s arrow; this is an arrow from our own house; see, it is twisted.” The eldest brother, who was the angriest of all, took up the arrow and broke it to pieces. He sent the others outside to invite Au-ke-le within the house. And Au-ke-le, believing in the kindness of his brothers, and thinking they were going to let him join in their games, came within.

But they had made a plan against him. They laid hold upon him when he came within the house, and, at the words of the eldest brother, they uncovered a pit and they flung Au-ke-le down into it.

In that pit there lived a mo-o whose name was Ka-mo’o-i-na-nea. This mo-o was really Au-ke-le’s grandmother. She had been a mortal woman; but she had transformed herself into a mo-o, and now she lived in that pit, and she devoured any creature that came into it.

The angry brother called out, “Mo-o, Mo-o, here is your food; eat it.” Then he went away. But a younger brother who felt kindly to Au-ke-le whispered down, “Do not eat this youth, Mo-o, for he is your own grandson.” The mo-o heard the words of both. She came before Au-ke-le and she signed for him to follow her. He followed, and they came out on the dry sand that was before the ocean.

Then the mo-o spoke to Au-ke-le her grandson. “There is a land beyond this sea,” she said, “a land that I travelled through in my young days before I took on this dragon-form. Very few people live in that land. You must sail to it; living there you will become great and wise.

“The name of that land is Ka-la-ke’e-nui-a-Kane. The mountains are so high that the stars rest upon them. The people who live there are Na-maka-o-Kahai, the Queen, and her four brothers, who take the forms of birds, and two women-servants. The watchers of her land are a dog called Mo-e-la and a great and fierce bird called Ha-lu-lu.

“I will give you things to take with you. Here is a calabash that has a Magic in it. It has an axe in it also that you can use. And here is food that will last for the longest voyage. It is a leaf, but if you put it to your lips it will take away your hunger and your thirst. I give you my skirt of feathers also; the touch of it will bring death to your enemies.” Then his mo-o grandmother left him, and Au-ke-le was upon the sea-shore with a calabash that had Magic in it, with the leaves that stayed his hunger and his thirst, and with the skirt of feathers that would destroy his enemies. And he had in his heart the resolve to go to the land that his mo-o grandmother had told him about.

In the meantime Iku-mai-lani, the kind brother, had gone back to his father’s house. Iku asked what had happened to his favorite son. Then Iku-mai-lani, weeping, told his father that the boy had been flung into the pit where the mo-o was and that he feared the mo-o had devoured him as she had devoured others. Then the father and mother of Au-ke-le wept.

As they were weeping he came within the house. His mother and father rejoiced over him, and Iku-mai-lani hurried to give the news to his brothers. They were building a canoe, and when the eldest brother heard of Au-ke-le’s escape, and heard the sound of rejoicings in his father’s house, he gave orders to have all preparations made for sailing and to have the food cooked and every one aboard, that they might sail at once from the land.

It was then that Au-ke-le came up to where they were. He called out to his kind brother, to Iku-mai-lani, and asked him what he might do to be let go in the canoe with them. His brother said: “How can we take you when it is on your account only that we are going away from the country we were born in? We are going because you only of all of us have been promised the kingdom and the glory that belongs to our father. And we are going because we tried to kill you, and now are ashamed of what we did.”

Still Au-ke-le craved to be let go with them. Then the kind brother said to him: “You cannot gain your way through us. But with our eldest brother is a boy—a little son whom he is taking along, and for whom he has a great love. If the child of our eldest brother should ask you to come on board you will surely be let come.”

Then Au-ke-le went to the canoe. And the little boy who was his eldest brother’s son saw him and clapped his hands and called out to him, “My uncle, come on board of the ship and be one of us.”

Au-ke-le then went on board. The eldest brother, he who had been the most angry with him, let Au-ke-le stay because his young son had brought him on board. Au-ke-le then sent the men back to his father’s house for the things that his grandmother had given him—for the calabash with the Magic in it, and for the feather dress. The men brought these things to him; then the paddlers took up their paddles; the canoe went into the deep sea, and Au-ke-le and his brothers departed from the land of Ku-ai-he-lani, the Country that Supports the Heavens.

They sailed far and far away, and no land came to their sight. All the food they had brought in the canoe was eaten, and they no longer had food or drink. Their men died of hunger and thirst. Au-ke-le’s brothers went below, and they stayed in the bottom of the canoe, for they were waiting for death to come to them.

At last the boy who was the son of the eldest brother went down to seek his father. He was lying there, too weak to move by reason of his hunger and thirst. And Au-ke-le’s eldest brother said to his son: “How pitiful it is for you, my son! For my own life I have no regret, for I have been many days in the world; but I weep for you, who have lived so short a time and have but so short a time to live. Here is all I have to give you—a joint of sugar cane.” Then the boy replied, “I have no need for food—my uncle Au-ke-le has a certain leaf which he puts to my lips, and with that leaf my hunger and my thirst are satisfied.” His father hardly heard what he said, so weak he had become. Then the boy went back to Au-ke-le.

And when he came before his uncle again tears were streaming down his face. “Why do you weep?” Au-ke-le asked. “I am weeping for my father, who is almost dead from hunger.” Au-ke-le said: “You too would have died from hunger had I not come with you. I am hated by your father as his most bitter enemy, but I would act as a brother acts. Now let us go to where my brothers are.”

So they went below. Au-ke-le went to each of his brothers and put the leaf to their lips. It was as if each of them had got food and drink. Their faintness went from them, and they were able to get about the ship once more.

Soon afterwards they came in sight of land; Au-ke-le knew that this was the country that his mo-o grandmother had told him about. And, remembering what he had been told about the dangers of this land, he asked his brothers to let him take charge of the canoe, so that they might avoid these dangers. His brothers said, “Why did you not build a canoe for yourself, so that you might take charge of it and give orders about it?” Au-ke-le said, “If you give me charge of the canoe, we shall be saved; but if you take charge yourselves, we shall be destroyed.” His brothers laughed at him.

In a while they saw birds approaching the ship—four birds. Au-ke-le, remembering what his mo-o grandmother had told him, knew that these were the Queen’s brothers. They came and lit on the yards, and asked of those below what they had come for. Au-ke-le told his brothers to say that they had not come to make war and that they had come on a voyage of sight-seeing. His brothers would not say this; instead they cried out to the birds, “Ours is a ship to make war.” The birds flew back; they told their sister Na-maka that the ship had come to make war. Then the Queen put on her war-skirt and went down to the shore.

Au-ke-le knew that all in the canoe would be destroyed. He took up his calabash that had the Magic in it, and he threw it into the sea. As he did this he saw the Queen standing there with her war-skirt on. She took up her feathered standard and shook it in the air. Au-ke-le sprang from the ship and swam after the floating calabash. Then the ship and all who were on it disappeared: Na-maka the Queen made a sign, and they were seen no more.

And now Au-ke-le was left on the land that his grandmother had told him about—the land of Ka-la-ke’e-nui-a-Kane, where the stars rest on the tops of the mountains. He brought the calabash that had his Magic in it and the skirt of feathers that his mo-o grandmother had given him, and he rested under a tree by the sea-shore.

The dog that was called Mo-e-la, the Day Sleeper, smelt his blood and barked. And, hearing her dog bark, Na-maka the Queen came out of her house and called to her four bird-brothers: “You must go and find out what man of flesh and blood my dog is barking at.” But her four brothers, being sleepy, said, “Send your two women-servants and let us rest.” So the Queen sent her two women-servants to find out what the dog was barking at. “And if it be a creature of flesh and blood, kill him,” said the Queen.